


It's Been A Long Time

by AceDhampir



Category: Constantine (TV), Constantine: The Hellblazer (Comics), Gotham by Midnight
Genre: Built from a ton of canon, M/M, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 20:40:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4891513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceDhampir/pseuds/AceDhampir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two years since Jim Corrigan and John Constantine parted ways, things have changed between the Spectre and the Hellblazer. But when Jim calls John for help on a case, a little bit of catching up turns into reliving old memories and seeing if everything still feels the same.</p><p>This is a cowritten work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has a mixture of New 52 Spectre, Gotham by Midnight, New 52 Constantine, Hellblazer, Constantine Television series, and Constantine the Hellblazer canon rolled into one. How does that work? I dunno, it just does.

Detroit's the last place he heard John was at- running around with some sniper or something. He didn't really care about the details, not when what's happening is more confusing than anything else. There were too many body parts, too much blood to consider it a human thing. So he figured he'd start somewhere. He didn't find him in LA or Atlanta.

Where is that bastard?

Eventually, a text is sent out. He hasn't really bothered much, just asked a few questions here or there. But this time, he really needs his help.

_John._

_In Michigan. Need help._

_Text when you can._

_Jim._

_..._

_Hey mate._

_Been a long time. In Detroit. See you outside the precinct._

_The one you're in right now. Let's go on a walk._

_-John_

He lounges at a bus stop, smoking like a chimney. His gaze is locked on the steps and the front doors of the station in front of him across the street. He's in no rush and no hurry. He knew Jim was in town already, and he's wondering what it is this time that will drag him in.

He's also wondering how much danger Detroit is in with the Spectre here.

  
  


It had been a long time. He's surprised he got a text back so quickly. Most people take about thirty or so minutes to reply. He knows the Authority is here, and the Spectre knows as well. He knows about Midnighter and Krieg and their entire gang and he knows what they're up to.

But he doesn't see a need to bother with them right now.

He glances towards the signs, following them, knowing where he needs to go. It's about four- people are ready to head home. It’s a bit crowded.

But eventually he does spot John, unmistakable, really, and heads over to join him.

"John," he makes a face at the smoke before he moves to join him. "Been a while. You get those pictures I sent?" Business, business. He'll be friendly in a minute.

  
  


"Aye." He lowers the cigarette, keeping it between two fingers. "Yer right to call me. Think I know what's up. I'll do what I can fer ya." He pauses, studying Jim for a long moment. It's been...what, two years since they last saw each other? Maybe longer. It's been longer since there was...that.

"Ya...look good." It's an honest complement. Unlike John, Jim actually looks his age. It suits him, though. "Despite how rough I know work is on ya." He gives a tiny little smile, and then straightens up. His arm extends to ditch his cigarette in the ash catcher of the trashcan. He won't litter in front of Jim.

"I've...missed ya, y'know. We should catch up."

  
  


"Yeah, sure." Wow, he agreed to that rather quickly. It had been a while, though. He's been busy the past two years, with lots going on and lots to deal with. Plus, something about John makes him strangely comfortable despite what he is and despite what _HE_ is. He knows the Spectre doesn't approve and he knows that given the chance he'd probably tear John apart, but right now Jim is in control.

A hand runs through red hair, nails catching on that white streak of his.

"You know a good place? I'm not familiar with Detroit. Really don't go outside Gotham and Louisiana anymore. Too busy for vacations, nowhere to go. You know how it is.”

  
  


"Aye, I understand." He nods, and then thinks. "I...know a place. Friend 'o mine lets me use it to crash." Friend with benefits is probably understood, with that phrasing. "I'd...really like that. Before one 'o us feels guilty an' we trip up. Good place to get inside an' talk, discuss what's goin' on, what's...'appened, since we last talked." He grins, unabashedly.

"Yer affinity fer the color green is as strong as ever, I see."

  
  


"Green works with the orange." He's been teased enough over his poor taste in color, but hell, he can get away with it. He has different color suits but nothing looks as good on him as the green does, and he fucking knows it. He knows he's good looking in that color, too. So what's the point in changing now? "I remember when green was your favorite color." The quip is accented with a small grin before he ticks his head.

"Lead the way, hopefully your friend isn't home." Oh, Jim's hoping for private time? Makes sense. Plus, he doesn't really want to talk to someone else. Little does he know that the person John is talking about almost shares his face, and Mick Rawson is still more or less a rumor along with Ethan Krieg. "It's good to see you. Really."

Jeez, Jim. At least he's not totally awkward.

"What the hell are you doing here, anyway?" He knows it's either because of this friend with benefits, or the Authority.

  
  


"Authority." There's the answer. "Midnighter called me up 'cause 'o some shit." He explains as he walks, leading the way. "Authority's got a lot 'o great people, but they ain't strong in the magic department. The Doctor's unpredictable an' burns out quickly in each incarnation. Mal's kind of like a side contractor. So 'm the resident arsehole right now." They chose well, and they got the best. Nothing but, for Authority.

"To be honest, it ain't me first time workin' fer a big guy in all black leather." He teases, hinting at that one time he took a job at a club to get some stuff done years back. "But 'm into that kinda thing, so..." He's joking. He wouldn't go after Midnighter. He respects the man too much. If Midnighter ever asked him for that he'd probably drop his pants on the spot.

"They treat me well. Better 'n JLD ever did..." He huffs. "That was a shitty experiment, but those fuckers 'r all in me debt. I do miss some 'o 'em. The few that were loyal to me, anyway. The Stranger, I wouldn't mind 'avin' around."

There's the building. John heads for the stairs.

  
  


"I remember some of that. The JLD." Not much, but some. He can remember a little. He remembers seeing John laughing at God right in the face, which was...well, very much John. But it's in bits and pieces, as he wasn't doing well at that time. He had lost someone very close to him and vengeance outweighed justice. "The Authority. I've heard of them too. Lots of big names, lots of rumors."

Civil conversation. It's nice. He misses being able to talk to someone about something outside of cases and everything. Once they arrive to the building, he shrugs off his favorite jacket, folding it around his arm and heading up the stairs. He notices the elevator is broken. Shame. Once they arrive, though, he's a bit mesmerized.

"Nice place. Damn. How much money your friend have?" He whistles, looking around. "For once, you actually have good friends."

  
  


The elevator is perpetually broken here, much to Mick's chagrin.

"Two hitmen. They make a lot." John answers honestly. No need to lie about that. "Don't bother searching the place for evidence. Seb tries every few weeks. Although I think now he's not coming over for that." Everybody sleeps with everybody in this city. That's just how it is.

John leaves his coat by the door, hanging on its usual spot. There's room for about five coats and jackets there. A pair of worn-out green and black Asics rest by the door. There's a kitten asleep on the counter. Two lovebirds, chattering to themselves. The living room is spacious and beautiful. "Guest room's the one on the right. Main is the left." He points, just so no confusion happens as to where they're allowed to go.

  
  


"He makes you go to the guest bedroom?"  _I guess he's not your boyfriend like I thought,_  he thinks to himself, but John did say two of them. Those two are probably the owners, and that's confirmed by the somewhat forced looking family photo with a cat and some young woman. He still finds the idea of John actually settling hilarious, but he can see it, sometimes. Jim's been single himself since he lost his fiancé, but he doesn't seem to be destroyed by it anymore. The cat gets a smile; he's cute and peaceful, and the birds seem to make it feel comfortable.

"It's nice. I see why you crash here." John's pointed out bedrooms, but he decides to just explore a bit. "Seb? He some cop? Cops working with hitmen...Detroit really is a shithole."

  
  


"Sebastian. Detective Castellanos. Good man. Clean cop. He's not dirty at all. He can't get the owners into jail because of Authority and some shady government stuff, but he would if he could." He smiles. "He'd probably arrest me fer somethin', too. Good man. I miss seein' 'im around as much as I used to. Got a partner, Nate. Good kid, although a bit too vigilante fer his own good. He'll learn." John's already loose tie ends up a little more so as he straightens it out.

"I missed this. Our talks. We always 'ad good ones."

  
  


"Yeah. I tend to keep to myself, I really don't have friends back home that aren't at the department, so I don't really get to chat with anyone." Drake is a good partner but as far as he's concerned that's all she is. He hasn't dated much, as he's really just not interested. "You seem good. Not dead yet. An accomplishment? Or maybe everything's too scared to kill you now. I can feel the rage but I know there's something stopping him from coming out."

It's Jim, of course, but John doesn't need to know about all that.

His jacket is set on the couch, but he still stands, eyes glancing to that spare bedroom. Then to the kitchen. Then to the cat. "What about you? A lot can happen in two years."

  
  


"Well...I died." There's that. He mentions it casually. "But the demon blood saved me. Came back, from hell, found m'self more demon 'n anythin' else. Nergal's blood 's outa me system. Got incubus in me, now. A friend 'o mine injected his own into me, to help me have a chance to get outa hell alive. I owe 'im, but I don't think I'll ever see 'im again." He reminisces and falls silent for a short while.

"I've got somebody, actually...um, ya know, remember Azazel, who I mentioned all those years? Best friend, all that jazz..." He smiles weakly. "An' we're 'appy. Wouldn't trade it." His gaze diverts momentarily. "But thas' jus'..." He toys with a ring on his hand, in the shape of a goat's head. A gift, from the obvious. "Well, I made some bad choices. Picked a few bad eggs. Chased 'em off, found m'self in me best friend's bed instead. Best decision I'd ever made." He stops messing with the ring.

"I, uh...I made some bad choices, Jim, luv. I was broke. Started sellin' blood, an' sex. Got to the point I'd go 'ome with somebody fer a meal an' a place to sleep, before all 'o that."

  
  


He listens. He used to never believe in any of that. He was a good catholic boy who went to church on Sundays and bible school on Wednesday nights.

It's a good thing the Spectre doesn't know that the two men who live in this flat are also possessed by Grendel, which, clearly, won’t make him any warmer to Hunter Rose if they ever crossed paths. The Spectre would tear him apart, and would probably rip Grendel right out of him.

That's....scary.

"Damn, John," he signs. He didn't do well after the break up, but he moved on. It wouldn't have worked between them and he knows it. Not with what he is. "Azazel...yeah I remember. Vaguely, but I remember. I'm glad. Really. You deserve it."

  
  


"Gotta 'old on to what we've got. An' I've got Aza, I've got Authority...I'll keep what I can as long as possible. I...'ope ya can be part 'o that again, too. I've been keepin' a lot of cop company lately, fer some reason." He smiles weakly. "Guess I was thinkin' about you." He's had a lot of breakups in his life. He doesn't know the name of many people he's slept with. He doesn't even remember all of the people he had flings with.

But the one with Jim hurt badly enough to leave him wanting it back, even if just for a little while. It could never have worked. They knew it from the start. Jim's affection is probably one of the only reasons the Spectre didn't rip him apart, despite his usefulness to the grand scheme of things.

There's a moment of hesitation, and he decides he might as well. He closes the gap between them and leans in for a lingering kiss before he draws back. His eyes open again, unable to hide the frown he's really wishing he could show.

But, like always, he keeps smiling.

"I really missed ya." Whether warranted or not, he goes for an embrace.

  
  


He's not surprised John went in for the kill. Not at all. Nor is he surprised he returned it.

When John speaks again he has a thousand things screaming in his head about how wrong this is and how he's _WRONG THIS IS WRONG THIS IS_ -

Fuck it. It's been two years. Two years knowing he made the right choice but knowing he'd also done something he couldn't forgive himself for. Letting John go was something that he could never take back. Even now he wants to but he...can't.

But he can lose himself just for a minute.

The embrace becomes something a little bit more and Jim's hands tighten on the fabric of John's shirt, almost like he's just trying to relive that feeling from so long ago. Eventually, though, he lets go. He’s silent, eyes shut, just resting against the other man for just a bit. But only if John lets him.

  
  


John isn't turning on the charms someone like him is afforded. Frankly, he's too sad to. Standing there, embracing like no time has passed at all, even just for a moment...it makes something in him ache. He's happy to stand there for a long while, wanting nothing more than to keep the connection however he can, even if just for a little while.

Two years. Two years and a few months, and he walked out the door without a goodbye. Two years and a few months, and he hasn't spoken to the man since. John's face turns faintly against Jim's shoulder, nose brushing against the other's neck.

"Ya still wear that same cologne. 'S good. Smells good. Miss that smell."

  
  


It's a shitty cologne. Why does Jim still wear that smell? Why does he feel so compelled to smell like cheap as shit cologne?

 _Because John used to like it_. It's become an unconscious thing he can't help but keep on him.

"Your friend. He lets you use the spare room?"

  
  


"Aye." With one word, he's answered a question and consented. There's a flood of nervous warmth somewhere in his chest and quite possibly across his cheeks as well. "Guests 'r allowed." His tone drops in volume, and his fingers find their way to tug at the sides of Jim's shirt.

"Jim..." It's a name that drops to a cracked whisper. He's almost scared to blink, thinking he'll come to his senses and be somewhere else, with someone else. He inhales deeply one more time before he loosens the embrace, standing before his former flame like a man completely lost.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“John...” He exhales, tongue licking his lower lip before he offers a hand. Seems like he’s invested, and maybe he’s just needed this. Maybe it didn’t have to be from John, but he’s glad it is. He’s glad he decided to contact him again. He was afraid it would be awkward or escalate in a fight...but this is not what he expected at all.

He’s not surprised the spare bed is small. It’s probably for their kid or the occasional teammate who needs a place to crash. But once he slips that door closed behind them, that tiny room becomes his new favorite place.

“What do you want, John?" Familiar words. Very, very familiar words.

  
  


John takes his hand and follows without hesitation, silent and loathe to let go of the other's grip. As soon as the door has been closed, that warm feeling only radiates more. John Constantine... _THE_ John Constantine...is blushing.

He knows that question. Jim always asked that same question. Not just in bed. Not just at home.

_What do you want, John Constantine?_

The question without a solid answer, no matter how many he faked. Today, though, he knows. Today he isn't lying.

"You." He says it plainly, feeling light and somewhat weak at the knees. "I want you."

  
  


“Good boy.” Saying that again gets a little shiver. Memories are flooding back that he long thought he’d forgotten. He dips down to kiss along John’s jaw, nose pressed against his face has his hands work on pulling that tie loose. He just simply tosses it to the side, moving to unbutton his shirt next.

It’s almost like they’re back in Louisiana all over again.

He won’t stop John from touching him this time, not when he’s busy retracing skin that he used to touch all that time ago. He pauses once the shirt is done, not ready to slide it off just yet.

He’s deciding what to do.

“It’s been a while.”

  
  


He's left breathless, like someone feverish for a nameless one-night stand. And he remembers this is what he felt like every time, too. A chill, a thrill, a craving. Jim always manages to make him feel small, at peace. It's hard to explain, and not something he really thinks he could ever word well. When he's with Jim, he feels like nothing could touch him. It's a sensation he's never found anywhere else, no matter how hard he has tried to.

He moves to begin loosening Jim's tie, and then heads on to the buttons of the other man's shirt. Somewhere during this action, he's kicked off his combat boots as well. It's easy to do when he doesn't lace them all the way up.

"It's been ages." He confirms it with a quiet answer and a nod. With a tiny grin, he remembers something from all that time ago. "Remember, four years ago? I tried to summon a succubus so we could try that out, an' I pronounced the spell wrong...?" All of these memories, flooding back. God, it's good to be in this man's presence again. It heals him. "An' we learned 'ow tentacles work out? God, I thought she'd never be done with us. Couldn't walk the next day." His fingertips trace against what is exposed of Jim's chest. He then moves to finish off the buttons.

"An' that time after that when we fucked at that punk show, in that closet? Like bloody, stupid teenagers?"

  
  


“Mm.” He doesn’t need reminders. He’s starting to remember everything he’s tried to forget through drinks and through his outbursts with the spirit. “I remember you getting us kicked out and me having to pay a five hundred fine, because someone didn’t have anything to pay up, yet you bought the tickets.”

Ah, the tentacles. How he had to lie that away. Once he’s satisfied, he’s guiding John down, slipping back into that old role he had two years ago, like nothing’s happened since. It’s not really love, not anymore, but it’s something nice and he never feels that anymore.

Hands comb through hair and Jim peers down for a bit, his own hair flipped over his face. He needs a trim, but he can’t worry about that now.

He’s moving slow, like he wants to savor this and he can’t help it.

“I miss it.”

  
  


John slowly ends up flat on his back, knees still bent over the edge of the mattress. He stares up at Jim, a tiny smile on his face. It's a good view. He bites the left side of his bottom lip, just enough that teeth show. A tick of his, something that shows he's anticipating something worthwhile.

"An' that time ya spent yer entire Saturday off at 'ome an' kept me in bed fer almost all 'o it, between you an' the toys?" He grins up at Jim. "Like I was really gonna go anywhere." He's grinning, now.

His touch moves to stroke Jim's cheek, fingers fanning out to cup the right side of his face. His thumb strokes the other's chin and jaw.

  
  


He leans into that touch, comfortable...He’d go far as to say he’s even happy. Even if it’s just for a short while, he’s pleased enough with this. He knows what this really is and he doesn’t mind. He’s actually enjoying every bit of this.

“Toys? I think you just liked handcuffing yourself to things.” As much as he enjoys the flood, it still hurts. He’s brought back to that morning when John left. He knows it was for the best, he knows it’s a good thing and that it wasn’t his fault. He was already starting to stress, and they’d lost what they had a while before.

But it still hurts.

His head dips to rest on John’s chest, sighing as he shoves those memories away and focuses on what he’s going now.

And then he rises, working on finishing undressing his partner, quiet. He knows what he wants right now.

  
  


Not much has changed about the familiar body beneath him. John simply doesn't age like a normal person. It comes with the territory, a rather nice perk. He's sure that one day it will fade and he'll start to get older. That could be hundreds of years from now, if he can make it that long. That nasty scar carved in his forearm is new. Near a hip, an intricate and somewhat tribal-style goat's head adorns a formerly clean spot on his skin. Old, familiar scars, ink from years past...  
It's like he stepped right out of the past, or a dream.  
He's never been shy, even with a new partner. So when one as familiar as Jim works at his clothing, he assists and helps it go smoothly.  
A tiny grin tugs at the corners of his lips before one of his hands trails down Jim's chest and makes its way for his belt, where his fingers hook in. His hands bow work together, unbuckling it and moving to the button and zipper.  
Those damn, beautiful green suits. 

  
  


The green suits are as distinctive as Jim is. He likes the look and he knows others do too. It's been a while since he's indulged like this, ignoring the screaming voice in his head. He's basically told him to shut the fuck up the entire time he's been there, knowing what would happen if he didn't.  
At least he doesn't feel uncomfortable slipping back like this. There was always that chance he'd run like hell the minute john brought up catching up, knowing how it would make him feel. But now he's thinking be made the right choice.

"So many changes..." He's busy looking, he knows john doesn't mind him staring and watching new things appear. "I like it." It's a good thing john is helping. Jim is plenty distracted.

  
  


"Thanks. Been tryin' to take care 'o m'self fer once." He does seem healthier, trimmer instead of just skinny. "Yer as 'andsome as ever. Work suits ya well." His touch explores further, slipping down Jim's pants to reach as low as he can. He can't get them off of the other man because of his position, but he's helped the process along as best as he can.

They have a strange chemistry in this situation. They always have, since day one. Light conversations about the day were interspersed with gasps and quiet cries. Jokes and laughter turned into moans. John is a selfish man, in many ways. For him, sex tends to be about the activity and the pleasure of it, far more than a connection with someone. To him, it's only right to use the body he was given.

With Jim, it was always different. It was never just a quick fuck. The act was intimate in a strange way, drawing them together and allowing them to share private things. It was just another part of their day, as natural as breathing.

"Thanks.”

  
  


Jim knows what it's like to use a body. Or have a body used. It makes sense that in situations like these he'd want to preserve what he could and get as much feeling out of it as possible. Once he's satisfied with what he's looking at, he starts to get ready. Clearly Mick uses this room from time to time, the night stand has everything he needs.

"You and Azazel. Sounds nice," he comments, sounding genuinely happy for him. "I'm glad. Really, John. It's good."  
Prep is slow, he does this on purpose. Everything slow, everything drawn out for pleasure. He knows how this goes.

  
  


John isn't surprised at how stocked Mick keeps the nightstand. It gets a quiet huff of laughter from him, but his attention goes back to Jim quickly. He shifts his position waiting and trusting Jim will not rush him or anything about this. He trusts the man. That's a rare thing. He'll put himself in dangerous hands, but he actually trusts this one.

"S been good fer me to 'ave somethin' to come back to." Initial contact gets a little gasp. Yeah, he missed this. His lips twist into a smirk now, and it breaks when he gently bites his lower lip, as if in thought.

"What's new? Everythin' good?" They're...well, they ARE catching up. In bed. Multitasking has always been their thing.

  
  


“New department in Gotham. So that’s been where a priority of my time has gone to.” He slicks his hand with a bubblegum scented lube, sniffing it for a minute and shrugging before he gets to work. “My partner’s alright. She’s...good at what she does...”

He’s distracted for a minute. Just touching is sending him back again.

“Had a problem a while back. I can’t really be blamed.” Yes, he can. “But it’s just how it goes sometimes.”

Long fingers work in a massage, and Jim ticks his head as he leans back to watch his handiwork.

“The Authority. Not above working in teams still?”

  
  


John saw the tube and knew what scent that would have instantly. Mick likes the overly sugary ones. It's strange, but he doesn't mind. Anything is better than the nasty strawberry one, or that awful peach body oil. God, the thought of that alone is unpleasant. He's had to give one too many blowjobs to someone with one of those present in the past.

So, yeah, he'll accept bubblegum.

He's experienced, as is Jim. It won't be hard. He's not nervous at all. On the contrary, he's excited and very willing. The massaging is pleasant, and the cool sensation of the lube is a familiar and welcome thing, just like those fingers. A quiet vocalization makes that clear. God, he missed this.

"Nah, not when 's worth me time. Authority's different. They're not good, 'r bad. They jus' are. Like me." He curls his toes and shifts his legs a bit further apart. A sharper exhale comes when Jim hits a good spot repeatedly. The constant, massaging rubbing is wonderful and intimate. He almost prefers fingers to any sort of other penetration. When you couple with demons frequently, you're going to learn how to relax enough for some kinky fun.

  
  


Jim’s out of practice but he’s making up for it. Two becomes three, and he keeps that massage until he thinks he’s good and ready. There’s a low hum in the air, something like power cracking in the air. The Spectre is present but is staying away, almost like it’s trying to show off to remind John just who he’s dealing with. So possessive, but then again, John Constantine is an abomination.

He dips his head, enjoying the new scent of demon that he doesn’t remember. He likes it, and it shows when that low glow starts to illuminate. That’s Jim’s doing, not the Spectre, which makes one have to wonder what all Jim can do when he’s in full control of his own body.

“Morally grey. I like that.” His clean hand travels up John’s chest to the clavicle, and them slips around John’s neck. He’s not into choking. He’s instead moving up to scrape his nails over that scruff. “Sounds like a good group, if they can do what they do and not worry about right and wrong.”

Jealousy, Mr. Corrigan?

“You ready?”

  
  


Jim knows how to treat him right. He's rewarded with a happy little purr from John, whose hips arc and fingers latch into the sheets. Oh, that is nice. That is SO nice. His chin tilts back and the gentle scraping against the prickles of scruff on his throat and chin is a pleasant sensation. He loves it when he's worked up slowly like this. If only all of his partners knew how to make him this pliant.

"If ya ever felt like it, we'd 'ave room fer ya...mmm, yes, Jim, luv...right there." His words take the form of a needy whine. "Yer glowin' again." He teases with a snicker. "The big guy's really gonna not like me, now that 'm what I am. 'R maybe this is good enough punishment." More jokes.

"I won't do it without yer consent, but I can increase yer pleasure if ya wanna try it out. I don't 'ave to. Jus' the two 'o us 's always fantastic. But if ya want..."

  
  


The glow causes a soft hum, and Jim doesn’t seem bothered.

“No.” He's not exactly up for it. “But I appreciate it.”

This is rare enough, and last thing he needs is a slip of control and for the Spectre to reign his judgement on the world. It’s bad enough when Jim accidentally kills someone he didn’t mean to because of it. If he ever did that to John...

He’d never forgive himself.

He gets situated, moving so very, very slow, almost like he’s busy just playing with him instead of trying to get anywhere. Soon, yes, but he likes it when John is nothing but a subby puppy rolling on the floor.

The entrance is slow, and Jim hums until he’s satisfied with his depth before a thrust is made, his hand still scraping on John’s neck. Nails digging in just a bit when he hits a spot that gets him to shiver.

  
  


He knows better than to start begging. That isn't what Jim wants. No matter what he says or does, it will come at the pace his partner wants it to. He doesn't have control over that in this relationship, and he never has. It's a thrilling thing, giving that power up. He keeps his own intensity dialed back and just lets himself go.

Jim has taken ages before just to see him squirm and grow needier, right against the other man but not moving an inch to make anything happen. Any attempt to squirm or try to do it himself was met by strong hands pinning him down. He was taught to wait, taught to be patient, and he hasn't forgotten it. The delicious torture of having no control over pacing is something he loves.

He grips the sheets and moves his gaze down briefly, watching Jim get ready and position himself. His eyes then travel back up to meet his partner's in a steady, long hold. He breathes evenly and waits, feeling like something inside of him is about to burst.

Silence, for a moment.

  
  


A head dips down against John’s to focus. Jim needs to keep himself in control. Complete control. Something that’s nearly impossible with John here, but he can’t help but wonder what could happen if he let it go and just went wild. But, no, he needs to keep the Spectre at bay and keep himself focused.

There’s a low moan from him when he feels the right spot hit with John. He can tell just by the mage’s occasional reaction. He’s not like Mick; this isn’t a power trip or a way to kill time. He feels this and he knows what this is, knows what John is, and it makes him almost fall again. But that’s the last thing they both need.

There’s a whisper in John’s ear, words muttered each time he thrusts forward, green eyes almost blazing as he drags his nails down John’s side. He won’t be marking his territory. That’s not how he does things, but he will leave a mark here or there. His skin is burning and he knows why but right now he doesn’t really care.

Exhale. Thrust. Exhale.

  
  


The pleasure builds each time. He moans upon the first thrust, the sensation one of pure elation. He reaches up to grab Jim's shoulders, holding on and letting his nails dig in just enough to leave crescent-shaped marks behind. The whispered words are ones he's heard before, years ago. And they're welcome.

For now, in this moment, the years have been turned back, and they're not scared of consequences or how horribly wrong this relationship could have gone. None of that ancient history matters. It's just the two of them, flesh against flesh, twined together in an act of passion. It makes them both feel more alive.

John is not a passive partner unless told to be so. He moves with Jim, knowing how to tense muscles and shift his angle to bring his partner the sensations he desires. Each warm thrust hits spots inside of him that he would gladly thank god for creating. His low moan is a hungry thing, itches he didn't admit he still had being scratched in all the right ways.

"I missed ya so much..." A hoarse whisper is made. One of his legs goes up to hook behind Jim's hips. His breathing grows faster, and his pulse is shooting up with every movement. "I missed this. I missed us. Please tell me we can 'ave this again. Please tell me this isn't the last time. I don't care if 's true. Just lie to me, just for today."

  
  


“John.” He sounds...sad. Almost like he wishes he could say yes. But he can’t. He just can’t.

There’s a pause, and as much as his body is aching for him to continue, he just stops. Clearly it’s taking a lot for him to do this, both to hold control and to keep himself from trying to pull away. He hoped this wasn’t something he’d have to do again.

“We can’t. I can’t. I-” a sigh. “I can’t. I can't do this again.”

He knows that’s not what he wanted to hear and he can’t help but feel guilty, but it won’t work out. Not when Jim is what his is, not when John is still doing his work. It just can’t. Maybe it's just not going to ever happen. They tried and failed, and after what happened to his fiancé, what's been happening with the Spectre, he doesn't think he could try again only to lose John in the process.

“But I can stay.”

  
  


That aches. That really, really aches. His eyes are a bit watery, but he'd deny it.

"Thas'...thas' ok. Thas' best. Ya can...um..." He doesn't even know what to say. "Ya can finish, if ya want. I could jus'...y'know, instead 'o actually...I mean..." He trails off, unable to even offer what he was going to.

"Ya...don't 'ave to stay. I understand." Hesitantly, laboriously, his hands move away. "S ok. 'M used to it." He feels something inside of him sinking like a stone. It hurts, whatever it is.

  
  


"Oh..." He completely misunderstood. He can tell by John's reaction. And now he feels really, really, _REALLY_ stupid. "I...I didn't...shit, John. I'm sorry."

He hangs his head, somewhat embarrassed but also realizing he was far too into it to understand what exactly he meant. He's stuck, and now he doesn't really know what to do but sit there awkwardly and either pull out and go or correct himself. Either way, he's clearly more or less feeling really stupid.

"Keeping this a casual thing, us, yes. I'd like that." there you go, Jimble. "I'm lonely, John. I don't have friends. Least I can try to do is keep one, though I'm sure now that's not in the cards with...I didn't get that's what you meant."

  
  


He's quiet for a short while before he forces a little smile like he didn't just feel as if he'd been shot in the chest and dumped over a bridge with his feet tied to a cinderblock. He finds his words again, though. He always does.

"S...'s alright. I wasn't clear." He takes the blame to try and ease the tension. "I...I jus' don't wanna walk out 'o this room an' never see ya again, if 's possible. Thas' what 'm askin'. 'M...'m a shit friend, but I come with benefits, an'..." He hesitates again. "...I wanna do that fer ya. Let me be that fer ya, an' I promise I won't ever push ya. I won't ever ask fer more. I don't expect more." He's trying hard to repair this moment.

"I'd like it if ya got back to fuckin' me, but I understand if ya'd rather not. Ya feel really good, even now." That's the most "subtle" hint he can give. Always joking to ease tension and cover frustration and pain.

  
  


“I’d like that.” He’s still feeling a bit awkward but he shoves that aside, instead giving John a nod and getting back to work. This is what happens when you have bad people skills. He decides to make sure this is what John wants before he continues, focusing a little on John’s face with his own.

It’s passionate in a casual way, a good kiss, and it shows Jim’s hoping to move on. Besides, John’s right. He’s not the best friend to have, but he’s one of what...three? Three that Jim has? He needs him.

“I’m glad you still want that.” He sighs, situating to make sure it’s still not stale before he picks up the pace again.

  
  


The kiss is returned. It's gentle and shallow, like the one he gave in the living room before, and he understands its meaning and accepts it as the same. His in response is confirmation that they are on the same page. Apology accepted.

"Believe it 'r not, I like havin' some things stay the same. A steady partner counts." He's still going to try to make things less awkward and assure Jim this is what he wants. He shifts his hips and exhales in pleasure. The friction is wonderful. Jim's the perfect width and length, the right size in every way. He likes a bit of pain sometimes, sure, but there's a reason they've always been so passionate. They fit together well.

"I know yer work's tough. I could 'elp ease that." He teases with a small smile. A few thrusts in, and there's a quiet moan. There it is. He's ready for this again.

  
  


Jim pulls his head away only to shake some hair out of his face so that he could rest is forehead on John’s while continuing his motions and listening to him chatter. He doesn’t seem to be confused anymore. This, as wrong as it feels, feels just right.

“Could you?” He hums, brushing his nose down against John’s and working to keep him interested. “That’d be nice...better than drinking myself to sleep every night.”

Ouch, but it’s true.

“You try sleeping when God is vengeful.”

  
  


"Naturally, to avoid a vengeful God, ya want a demon in yer bed. Or on yer couch. Or yer desk. Whatever." He absently leaves his doors open. "I'll do housecalls." He snickers, hands moving to reach around Jim's shoulders once more.

Throwing any previous discomfort to the wind, John hitches one leg up around Jim's hips, and then the second. He moans as the angle change rubs something nice inside of him. With some partners, what he likes is the impact and the shock of hit after hit driving him into the bed. With others, he likes the speed. With Jim, it's always been amount the pace and the size. He's always left rubbed in all the right places, without fail. He loves it.

"Mmn...ya know, demons 'r usually better in bed than angels. But yer better 'n either." That is a high complement, indeed. 

  
  


“You say that to everyone or just me?” 

He’s teasing, leaning down to bite on John’s chin, gentle bites that sometimes get harder when Jim hits the right spot. His hand slips down to give John a cheeky grab, tight but just to get that blood flowing from the shock of it. He gives it a little rub, wondering how much longer John can last before he asks Jim to stop.

That thought gets him giddy.

“You have my number. Same goes.”

  
  


John gasps and wriggles a bit, unable to help himself. Ohh, that is nice. That is very nice.

"Shit, Jim, luv, I won't last very long if ya keep that up." He admits it with a hushed gasp. "Mm...but 's nice..." He grins and reaches out to run fingers through the man's hair. "Don't stop..." God, he loves this. Everything about this is perfect.

"I don't say that to everybody, by the way, luv..." He rolls his hips and leans over to give Jim's ear a little bite. "An' I wouldn't offer to be a regular fer somebody who didn't drive me crazy. Yer a dream, really. 'Andsome detective...mm, wonderful face..." He gasps sharply, the rubbing Jim is doing to his cock driving him closer and closer to the edge. "Great 'ands, perfect cock..." He complements in a very John fashion. And then he snickers, quietly.

  
  


“Good.”

He seems pleased with the complements, and shows it with a tight little squeeze at every one that comes out. His pace quickens, and he’s working to try and knock John out of the park. Jim’s close too, more because of the words, and he huffs, starting to feel himself loose just a bit of control. The glow to his eyes grows and he shuts them to try to keep from blinding John. The green vapor is starting to grow more intense as they bring themselves closer to the edge.

“John...” The minute he says it, it feels like time freezes. Jim just keeps his eyes locked on John for a bit, that eerie glow almost piercing him. And then in an instant it’s over. John might feel power cracking in the room again. Someone isn’t happy. 

He can wait.

  
  


John is a mess. With a shiver, a louder moan announces he's close. It's moments later he reaches his climax, fingers digging into Jim's shoulders and eyes tightly closed as a flood of pleasure washes over him. He clings as tightly as he's able, moaning Jim's name and holding on for the end of it all.

Eventually, slowly, they both start to come back down.

"Fuck...God, Jim...that was incredible." He mutters it softly and stares up at the detective.

  
  


Jim shakes, enjoying the sensation as he starts to climb down, resting down on top of John and letting the sensation carry him away for a little bit. He sighs, content in rolling in those aftershocks before he finally pulls out. But doesn’t pull away.

“I missed that.” He leans up to peck John’s jaw, settling back down. Looks like he’s not letting John leave for now. “I’m glad I called you.”

  
  


"I really missed you. And THAT is yours any time ya want." That's a promise. He rolls over and draws close to Jim, keeping enough of a distance it isn't strange. They just fucked, and yet he's trying to make sure it seems he wouldn't jump at the chance for more someday, even though it's fatalistic and stupid.

"Ya treat me well. An' yer great fer it." He smiles brightly. "Thanks fer comin' over."

  
  


“Thank you. It was good, catching up.” He rolls off him now, stretching and groaning before just letting himself fall flat. “By the way, I think your friend is home. I heard someone yelling while we were...busy.”

He’s right. Someone is home. But he won’t care about what John’s doing. Sounds like he’s probably watching rugby. Which, for him, isn’t surprising at all.

“Know a good place for food?”

Typical.

  
  


"Ya like Denny's?" With that, it's clear things are back to normal for these two.

 

 


End file.
